


(I Woke up from) the Longest Dream

by Ange_de_la_Mort



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Nightmares, References to War, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-05-30 13:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15097673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ange_de_la_Mort/pseuds/Ange_de_la_Mort
Summary: Five times Maes Hughes looks at Roy Mustang. One time Roy Mustang looks back.





	1. Chapter 1

Maes doesn't sleep much. Not much, not often, not good.  
  
There is always something to be done, a report to be read, one to be written, a file he could go through, a case to be prepared. Additionally, he has no other choice than to stick his nose into matters that are actually none of his business - either because he wants to do something to help Roy getting tiny baby steps closer to his goal, or because he isn't too good at trusting other people to do their job the right way (what's the saying again? “If you want a thing done well, do it yourself”? Yes. Yes, that's a good motto).  
  
Maes needs things to be done well so that they don't bite him in the ass later, so that he doesn't have to choose between his time at work and his time with everything else.  
  
And since he could not live with taking time off from his family or from his idiot friend Roy, it's his sleep that has to bite the dust. It's overrated anyway.  
  
Maybe it would be easier if he just stayed in the office and worked there, until, at some point, fatigue would just wash over him, make him curl up on the sofa. Maybe he would even allow himself a snatch of this useless waste of time called sleep. Maybe. Probably. But then he would have to lower his sights, then he would neither be able to put Elicia to bed every day nor to kiss Gracia whenever he’d want to.  
  
He wouldn’t be able to pick Roy up in the evening and bring him home, no matter how much Roy glares at him, no matter how firmly he crosses his arms in front of his chest, no matter how much they both pretend there is no reason for Maes to worry every day about Roy Mustang finding his way to bed and out of it again without killing himself.  
  
There are thousands of reasons for Maes to worry. And they all once had a name and a life ahead of them.  
  
Maes himself knows Ishval only from stories. From the official ones, the history, which is written down in files and books. From the stories Roy sometimes tells him when he’s drunk or destructive enough to talk about the things he’s seen and done.  
  
And, of course, from those stories he witnesses every night when Roy is asleep.  
  
It happens pretty often that Maes takes his work home. To both of his homes; the one he shares with his family, and the one that more or less belongs to Roy.  
  
It happens pretty often that he spends his so called free time sitting at a desk, either in his own study or in Roy's tiny apartment, the one Maes keeps telling him is too small for one person (or one and a half if one counts Maes as half an inhabitant of that ugly little flat). He keeps telling Roy that he should buy himself a larger place. The money is not a problem. Maes knows Roy's salary. Maes knows it's not the concern about the rent that keeps Roy from behaving like a normal adult and finding a fucking apartment where you don't end up with one foot in the bathroom when you try to turn around in the living room.  
  
(It's not the money.  
  
Nevertheless, it's a never-ending story between them, one where Roy merely looks at him while Maes wants to tear at his hair in frustration. He knows that Roy has spent the last years doing nothing with his salary but letting it rot away on his bank account, because Roy thinks, believes, _knows_ he'll die soon anyway. Once he's become Führer. Once he and Riza just leave Maes alone to follow that fate and punishment that seems just and fair in their own twisted minds.  
  
"All the more reason," is what Maes always says, "to take advantage of what you have and what you can do with it, there's no point in self-flagellation if you're going to put a bullet in your brain soon anyway."  
  
"You weren't there," is what Roy always answers. "You don't understand."  
  
That's true. He's tried it often enough, imagined the horror, the screams and the death. But even his imagination is running out at some point, and some things are in fact even worse than anything one could fantasize about. That's why Maes always leaves it at that; until the next time he tries to make Roy live his life - or what's left of it.)  
  
With a soft sigh, he sits at the desk next to Roy's bed and spends a lot of time looking at the lines and circles drawn all over the walls with chalk. By now, he thinks, he already knows them by heart, maybe could even recreate them.  
  
Sometimes he wonders about the future as he traces the old chalk scribbles with his fingertips. The biggest taboo that exists, huh? Probably. Maybe. But what would he do if Roy was not with him anymore? Roy and Gracia and Elicia? If anything happened to one of the three, an accident, old age or illness or even a misguided way of repenting for things you hadn't been able to prevent?  
  
Sometimes Maes secretly asks himself if he could bear being alone and lonely, without his loved ones, or if he'd give in, if he'd be too weak to go on yet strong enough to perform a taboo, _this_ taboo, and ...  
  
It's a good thing he's not an alchemist. That means he never has to find an answer to that quiet, unspoken question.  
  
He sighs and stretches a little, grimacing at every aching muscle in his shoulders. He probably spends too much time at his desk. But otherwise he'd have to compromise and ... well, and so on.  
  
His eyes keep falling to the sleeping figure on the narrow, unadorned bed. It's Roy lying there. Who else should it be?  
  
Roy can sleep anywhere, or at least he's good at pretending to. Maes sometimes envies him a bit, even though he knows that Roy's sleep is a light one, an uneasy one. Ever since his return from Ishval, Roy seems to waiting for an ambush or an assault, a band of assassins hunting him down for his misdeeds, or maybe even the ghosts of the dead stealthily sneaking up on him.  
  
An unbiased observer would perhaps say that Roy deserves the nightmares, deserves that the memories of what he's done follow him every waking moment, and every moment that he's not awake as well. Deserves being haunted in his sleep, where he's defenseless, where he can't escape, can't distract himself, where he always has to experience the horrors of Ishval again and again until the end of his days.  
  
Maes is not unbiased.  
  
That's why, even in this night, he watches Roy's every movement with brows furrowed in worry, watches every twitch of his fingers, every flutter of his eyelids. Every time he spends the night here, he hopes that Roy will just be able to sleep through without having to dream. At least for a few hours. Every time he is disappointed.  
  
Sometimes it begins very slowly, as if the dreams are creeping up on him from behind the shadows of his mind. Sometimes Roy moves a little, shaky sounds escaping his slightly parted lips, and his eyebrows furrow, his already pale face turns almost abnormally ashen. His fingers move, clawing at the sheet. Quiet pleas for mercy tumble over his lips, nonsensical gibberish that only makes sense to those trapped in the dreamscape. His breaths come in fast, worrying hiccups that make Maes wonder if it is possible for someone to hyperventilate in their sleep. He always makes a mental note to read up on that someday. He never finds the time for it.  
  
There are a lot of tears. Always.  
  
With Roy, it's either small, almost inaudible sobs and a patch of wetness on the pillow - or heart-wrenching wails, the sounds of a man who kills and gets killed and every night anew.  
  
Maes can handle all these things, can gently shake him by the shoulder and kiss his forehead, whisper in his ear that he's here for him, that Roy isn't alone. That Roy is home. In safety. Far from blood and death and guilt. Can see the way Roy's eyelids flutter again, this time not in his dreams but in the process of waking up. And when he really manages to wake, relief pulls at the corners of his mouth, shooing away the shadows of the past. Maes then always takes him in his arms and lies down next to him, fully clothed and in a mostly uncomfortable posture, until Roy falls asleep in his arms.  
  
These are the good nights.  
  
Today is not a good night.  
  
This night starts with a pained noise that reminds him of an animal in agony, of prey being hunted and put down. An animal that dies alone and scared and with a cut throat.  
  
Maes flinches and feels a sigh escape his lips, because he already knows the way things will be tonight. He turns his head to Roy and looks at him with worry in his eyes and heart, but he doesn't instantly rush to his side. Roy won't wake up that easily during a night like this. He never does. That's why Maes carefully lays down the pen he always uses to work on his reports, then gets up from the uncomfortable, simple-wooden chair to slowly walk over to Roy's bed.  
  
Carefully, he puts a hand on Roy's back, between his shoulder blades, on that very spot a bullet or a knife could oh so easily penetrate. "Hey," Maes tries to wake him up.  
  
There is no answer.  
  
Roy isn't ready to wake up, yet. He's probably in his midst of a battle, or in the middle of running away. On nights like this one, nothing short of being killed will bring him back to consciousness.  
  
Sometimes, on nights like these, Maes imagines the battlefield. The thought alone leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, because he knows the smell of death and destruction. He's with Investigations, he has seen and smelled far too many corpses. More than enough for at least two lifetimes.  
  
Roy's limbs twitch, and Maes presses his hand tighter between his shoulder blades so he can't lash about, can't hurt anyone. Not Maes. Not himself. Behind his closed eyelids, his eyeballs flicker back and forth. His body is cramping up.  
  
He's running away.  
  
It's so different to the rest of his life. When he's awake, he faces the challenges the world throws at him, the military, the Führer. When he's awake, he leads and protects his team. When he sleeps, he always dreams of an enemy he cannot outrun. Maybe he dreams of himself. Maybe his feelings of guilt are his own biggest enemy.  
  
Sometimes Maes tries to understand what he is going through. But Roy is right - he hasn't been there. He will always fail to comprehend. All he can do is wait. Wait and softly talk to Roy, while gently rubbing his back in soft, soothing circles.  
  
He does that all night, even though it sometimes feels like hours pass for Roy's body - shaken and tense from tears and cramps - to arch up one last time.  
  
The prey has been cornered.  
  
The hunter bares razor-sharp teeth.  
  
There is no way to escape.  
  
At the moment of his death, Roy opens his eyes and returns to life.  
  
To life, but not to the real world, not yet. Every time, just like tonight, his eyes are clouded, his gaze turned to a place that's far away and at the same time just inside of him. He takes one breath. And another one. Then he becomes aware of the hand on his back and hastily turns around, arms outstretched and fingers twisted in that one, very special gesture that has already taken countless lives.  
  
Roy snaps his fingers.  
  
However, Maes doesn't go up in flames, for he always makes sure Roy's gloves are way out of his reach. Only an idiot would let a war veteran sleep with a weapon still in his hand or under his pillow, regardless of whether the weapon is metal and steel or a simple piece of cloth.  
  
Slowly, each time way too slowly, Roy's eyes become unclouded, become bright and worried and scared. "Maes?" he always asks, almost as if still half asleep. And then he curses, a lot, a different string of swears each time, but always a variation of "shit!" and "I'm so sorry!" and "I could have killed you!" until Maes just sighs softly and rolls his eyes,until he pulls Roy into a tight embrace.  
  
"You haven't," is what Maes always says.  
  
"I could have!" is what Roy always answers.  
  
"But you haven't." And that's the end of the discussion, because Maes doesn't allow any further back-talking, because he, instead, simply puts his lips to Roy's forehead to kiss the salty skin, to brush some stray, sweaty strands of his hair aside. "You haven't. I'm here. I'm always here."  
  
"You shouldn't ..." A weak, tired protest.  
  
"But I am."  
  
"You shouldn't have to be."  
  
"Shut up, Roy," Maes says. Because they have this discussion every time. Because maybe even Maes feels a little tired sometimes - if not physically, then at least mentally. "Shut up," he says again, but with fondness in his voice.  
  
"You shouldn't have to worry all the time."  
  
"Which part of 'shut up' was too complicated for you, Mustang?" Roy looks tired. Maes is tired. He sighs. Then smiles and wraps his arms around Roy once more. "A life without worries would be boring. Now come on, go get a shower, I'll make some coffee and then we'll get some work done. "  
  
Roy blinks and frowns, raises his eyebrows. "Can I go back to having nightmares instead? That sounds more appealing."  
  
Maes rolls his eyes and grins.  
  
If he had to choose between a life without worries and a life without Roy Mustang, he'd always choose this - his - stupid idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

Maes yawns heartily and stretches his feet out until they hit the opposite row of wooden seats, then he grimaces.  
  
Somehow he always manages to forget how much he hates to take the train, until he finally ... well ... has to travel by train again. It's useless, wasted time, in which he actually can't do anything except stare out of the window. At least he _could_ do that. Usually. But now it's the middle of the night, and the most exciting thing he gets to see is the reflection of Roy's face in the window pane.  
  
Maes sighs. Sometimes he envies Roy's ability to fall asleep anywhere. And his ability to not have nightmares unless he's lying in his own bed. It's almost as if he's cursed to having to take long train rides to finally be able to sleep for a couple hours. Alternatively, he can also work on his studies and whatever his superiors ask of him until the letters in front of his eyes no longer make sense and he feels justified in laying his head on the desk and snoring quietly.  
  
But even that is a kind of talent after all. Somehow at least.  
  
Because while Roy makes sure that he can be used for something the next morning, Maes already feels exhausted.  
  
Of course, he has already tried to spend his involuntarily sleepless night with something useful, of course, but the swing and jolt of the train makes it impossible for him to concentrate on the few documents he took with him: The letters blur in front of his eyes and when he focuses too much on deciphering them, he either lacks the attention span to understand the meaning of the words - or he simply becomes so sick that he wishes their cabin was closer to the bathroom.  
  
So the thin briefcase made of dark leather remains closed, while Maes squeezes his eyes together and breathes convulsively. In and out. Again and again he forces himself to take calm, deep breaths in order to make sure that his stomach stops rumbling and his dinner stays where it belongs.  
  
Maybe he should have just kept his hands off it. But Gracia had made them a lunchbox, and that had been so incredibly sweet of her, and besides, she's such a terrific cook and Maes just can't resist her food - just like he can't resist her in general - and it's his own damn fault that he's now feeling dead inside, so he has to live with and endure it for better or for worse. Damn it.  
  
Well. And since he has nothing better to do now anyway - which is a lie, he always has something better to do, but he is not in a position to do anything better at all right now -, he crosses his arms behind his head with a soft sigh and lets the Führer's orders go through his head again, so that he can convince himself exactly who is to blame for his misery. Well he himself is, because he's sick now, of course, but _really_ guilty of everything are the inhabitants of Youswell. Without them he wouldn't be here on this train, but could nestle up against his wife from behind and lay his hand on her stomach and quietly ask her if they don't maybe want a second child. Or he could snuggle up to Roy from behind and put a hand on his belly and press his nose into his hair and regret that they can't start a family together.  
  
... no, these are not good thoughts at all right now. These are _never_ good thoughts, but if Maes is sitting around and already feeling sorry for himself, then yes, these are very, very stupid thoughts.  
  
Back to Youswell.  
  
To the small, peaceful, inconspicuous mining town, where the peaceful, inconspicuous people seem to have gone over to improving their pocket money with some extra income. There's no evidence yet, and that's why Roy and Maes are heading for Youswell, too, but it seems as if the mining business has almost come to a halt, as if Youswell has become a city for the more criminal kind of tourists, because the workers have gone over to secretly creating Chimerae - horrors composed of two or more creatures - to make them fight each other or simply sell them to the highest bidding collector.  
  
Chimerae ... Maes shudders at the word.  
  
He will never be able to stop thinking about the girl. Shou Tucker's daughter, who was barely older than Elicia is now. They would certainly have become good friends, the two wonderful girls, and would also have been wonderful friends to the Elric brothers and ...  
  
Wait a minute.  
  
Wasn't there something? With the Elrics and Youswell? Some exaggerated story Ed told them about five hundred times to show off? Maes doesn't remember properly anymore, he never listened that closely, often took it to be the talk of a young, too talented boy - just like he used to stop listening to whatever Roy had to say - but there was ... something there. There is something that stirs in the furthest corners of his memory.  
  
It's probably just a coincidence, but couldn't it be that they've seen Ed perform one of his magic tricks, and been inspired to put their own money where their mouth is? He'll have to check that when they arrive ...  
  
But now he's stuck, and that in the truest sense of the word, because the train is going to run all night before the next time they stop. And this stop isn't even the time to get off the train, so Maes can't even tell himself that he will soon have made it and survived to live another day.  
  
The light of the ceiling lamp flickers a little. Well. That would be just his luck if now, in the middle of the night, the electricity went out, wouldn't it? However, perhaps the sudden darkness would at least finally make it clear to him that he really can't do anything at this moment to at least feel a little useful; that sleep would be the only smart thing he could do.  
  
Until then, he might as well watch Roy sleep. Maybe his body would take the hint and become inspired enough to turn into tiredness. Granted, Maes doesn't actually believe it, but looking at Roy is something he always likes to do.  
  
So he slowly turns his head to the right.  
  
And he flinches in shock.  
  
Because Roy stares at him out of black eyes, his lips tightened into a thin line.  
  
"Holy _shit_ , Roy, you almost gave me a heart attack! I didn't know you're awake."  
  
"Well, _you_ woke me up with your shuffling around," he says, and covers his mouth with a hand as he yawns. "I guess that makes us even."  
  
Maes pushes the lower lip forward in a pout and crosses his legs, bobbing his foot up and down. For a few moments it is quiet between them, so quiet that Maes catches himself squinting at Roy out of the corner of his eye to see if he has already fallen asleep again.  
  
He hasn't, by the way.  
  
Nevertheless, it is quiet between them, the pleasant kind of silence that can only reign between two people who have known each other for many years and who are beyond the time when one of them constantly has to say something or do something to overcome any embarrassing silence.  
  
Finally, Roy yawns softly and stretches himself one more time. The joints in his shoulders crack so loudly that Maes flinches at the sound and grimaces. "Well, that sounded painful."  
  
Roy shrugs it off and lays his head back, looking at the weakly flickering ceiling light with a frown. "Well, I guess I'm not as young anymore as I've once been." The words sound so serious and so deeply saddened that Maes rolls his eyes - before he can say anything and gently and lovingly explain to Roy that they are the same age and that Roy is a complete idiot, Roy turns his head to him. "Why aren't you sleeping?"  
  
Maes shrugs his shoulders. "You know I'm not a friend of trains."  
  
"You mean, unless you can use your military privileges to occupy the phone and get on my nerves?"  
  
"That's something entirely different," he points out. "I'm a friend of _anything_ that gets on your nerves."  
  
"Sometimes I really wonder why I even put up with you. Then I remember we're friends and I love you and resign myself to the fate of you being awfully annoying until the end of my life."  
  
"Oh, c'mon! You love me _because_ I'm showering you with my affection at any given time!"  
  
"I wouldn't go _that_ far", mumbles Roy, but the narrow smile around the corners of his mouth contradicts his words. Once again he yawns and rubs his eyes. "But really, you should try to get some shuteye. We have some long, tough days ahead."  
  
"What? Because we're spying on a bunch of country bumpkin? Oh, please, Roy, now you give them too much credit."  
  
Roy really snorts and smiles now. "Country bumpkin? Well, I guess it takes one to see one, Mr. 'I-have-never-set-foot-in-a-big-city-until-I-was-seventeen'."  
  
Maes pokes him in the side. Roy laughs quietly, and Maes can't be mad at him. He can never do that. "You'll be thanking me for my knowledge soon enough! You'll see!"  
  
"Why? I don't think hugging trees and herding sheep is part of the mission."  
  
"You are _awful_ sometimes!" Maes pinches him again, and this time Roy actually flinches and slides away from him as far as he can, raising his hands defensively. "You wouldn't be able to navigate through a forest if your life depended on it!"  
  
Roy then glances at him for a moment and raises a single eyebrow. "Hughes," he says, and Maes hates him a little bit for it, because he's only 'Hughes' when Roy is mad at him or when he is about to say something stupid while pretending Maes is an idiot. "Hughes, trees are _flammable_."  
  
"So you'd rather destroy a living ecosystem and all the life within than ask me for my help, that is _so_ you, Mustang." He tries to sound strict, disappointed, but he can't help laughing.  
  
Roy also laughs and shakes his head. "As much I like you prattling on about what an awful person I am because I'm a slave to of a system that invented roads and electricity and how much I'm unable to survive for a week without running water - which is true, by the way, civilized people like to _shower_ , Maes."  Maes rolls his eyes and fakes a coughing fit to suppress his laughter. Roy continues: "It's the middle of the night. I'm tired and I know you are as well. So just ... tell me what's wrong and let's try to sleep for a bit. Both of us. You and me. Fine?"  
  
Maes just shrugs his shoulders. "Nothing's wrong."  
  
"Maes."  
  
He sighs. "Fine. _Fine_. I guess this whole thing creeps me out. I hate everything about Alchemy. It's unnatural, and the thought of encountering some other children that are stuck as Chimerae makes me want to hug my daughter and cry for hours. _That's_ what's wrong. I hate this. I have a ton of very bad feelings about this mission. And I'm scared out of my mind." He pants exasperatedly and claws his fingers into the coarse fabric of his pants. "You happy now?"  
  
Roy looks at him for a long time.  
  
Maes looks away, stares into the empty cabin, until at some point he feels a hand lying down carefully on his forearm and exerting gentle pressure. For a moment, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before turning his head back into Roy's direction.  
  
Usually, at a time like this, Roy is always the one to smile sarcastically and tell him not to act like that. Usually, by pretending not to take a situation seriously, Roy manages to show Maes that everything is only half as bad as he thinks it is. That Maes worries needlessly. That they will accomplish all of this, just like they have accomplished everything so far, no matter how hopeless or alienating the situation may have been to Maes.  
  
Not this time. This time Roy looks at him with his lips pressed together in all seriousness, a silent promise in his eyes. "I know," he says quietly. "I know you're worried about Elicia. And I understand that. But this is exactly why are on this mission: To make sure than no other child and no other creature will end up like Nina Tucker did."  
  
The sincerity in his eyes makes Maes feel dizzy. He lowers his gaze and turns his head away. And he swallows around a lump in his throat. "Really?" he eventually whispers through clenched teeth. "That may be. But will we succeed?"  
  
"Yes. Really. I promise." Roy's hand wanders along his arm, across his wrist and down to his fingers, which Maes has so tightly clawed into the fabric of his pants that his knuckles have turned white.  
  
Only now does he even notice it. Only now does he notice how tense he is. The way he digs his fingernails through the fabric and into his knee. He hadn't noticed it at all before.  
  
Roy has. Just like Roy notices everything and sees and hears and knows it all. And when he now closes his hands around Maes' fingers and brings them to his lips to kiss every single one of his tensed up knuckles, Maes realizes that a heavy load is falling off his shoulders.  
  
"She's safe," Roy mumbles against his skin. "She's safe because you keep her safe."  
  
"But I'm not with her right now. I can't keep her safe."  
  
"Gracia can. Gracia does." Roy smiles. Maes can feel his lips move against his fingers. "I know you feel like you need to protect her any given moment. Just like I know you feel like the world will stop turning if you aren't there to make it spin. You think you're irreplaceable."  
  
"I don't -"  
  
"But", Roy won't let him go on, "you have your wife, and she is stronger than you might believe. You're not the only one who loves your daughter."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"Then trust her. Trust her to keep Elicia out of harm's way, and trust _me_ when I tell you that nothing bad will happen to your family. You won't let it happen. _I_ won't let it happen."  
  
It should sound trite. logically speaking, no one can make such a promise. But Roy has always been something special in Maes' eyes, because whatever Roy may say, he has the power to make Maes believe that it will come true. He has that kind of thing about him that makes people follow him. As they all do; Maes, Hawkeye, the rest of Roy's team. Just like all of Amestris will eventually do.  
  
Maes takes a deep breath and slowly pulls his hand back. "You are ... such an idiot sometimes," he says and feels the first real smile that night pulling at the corners of his mouth. "But I belive you."  
  
"Well, if that wasn't the first smart sentence you've said all day." Roy hums quietly to himself and takes another good look at Maes. "Hey. Come on, put your arm around me." When Maes obliges confusedly, Roy lets out a content sigh and nestles against him, leaning his head against his shoulder. He turns his upper body a little so that he can put an arm across Maes' stomach.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yes, _oh_. I'm going to stay like this for the rest of the night so that even your idiot brain must understand that you're not alone."  
  
"Hmm, that's it, huh,“ Maes says. He buries his nose in Roy's hair and sighs softly, breathing in his smell. "This is fine, I guess."  
  
"You guess?" Roy smiles and closes his eyes. "Don't tell me I'd have to sit on your lap all night."  
  
"That would be nice, too."  
  
"But we'd never catch any sleep."  
  
"A sacrifice I'd be willing to make."  
  
Roy gives him a playful pat on the stomach. "Sleep, country bumpkin. I'm here to protect you. We'll do just fine."  
  
Maes doesn't know what to say about it, doesn't know if there's anything he can say about it. At all. The fear is still gnawing at him with razor-sharp teeth, and whenever he closes his eyes, there is only the image what has become of Nina Tucker in his mind; he sees her bloody body being ripped apart, remembers the smell of blood and death and misery. He presses his lips tightly together, forcing down the bile that threatens to rise in his throat. _Don't think about it_ , he scolds himself and presses his nose against Roy's scalp, clings his arms around him until all his senses are filled with Roy, until he can only _feel_ him, smell him - the smell of freshly washed, still a little damp hair and the earthy shampoo that Roy uses. There is also the smell of ashes. Roy always smells like that, no matter what he does. That's probably just a very integral part of him; one of the many little things that, when put together, make up one whole Roy Mustang.  
  
... it's a good sum of things, Maes thinks silently and breathes a kiss on Roy's hair. One that he likes to spend his time with.  
  
When he finally drifts off to sleep, when his eyelids get heavy and his thoughts overly confident, he finally thinks that this might not be too bad.  
  
After all, they are together in Youswell. Together they are unbeatable.  
  
And how hard can it be to spy on a bunch of country bumpkins?  
  
(Their little work trip almost ends in death. It ends in pain and injury and a hasty escape. It ends with Roy almost bleeding to death and with Maes performing Alchemy for the first and hopefully last time in his life to save them both. It ends with Maes thinking that the words 'How hard can it be?' must be some kind of ancient curse. And he vows to never even think them ever again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small thing that might turn into something bigger one day.


End file.
